


You Fill My Head With Pieces (Of Things I Thought I Had Forgotten)

by Cupcakeninja045



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Brief Description of Injuries, Can you tell I've never seen Star Wars, Childhood Trauma, Din Djarin is a bride but not of the blushing variety, Din is like 27ish, Din is trying his best, Din's lack of social skills is what I live for, Don't let Din's quiet demeaner fool you he's petty, Except for when they are, Good Parent Din Djarin, Grogu is older than both of them, Grogu | Baby Yoda Being a Little Shit, He takes after his father, I call Din Na'im for like 2-3 chapters, I mess with the timeline a lot, M/M, Not everyone is out to get you, Paz is 31, Paz is a bit of an ass in some parts, Paz is trying his best, Paz underestimates Din a lot, Protective Din Djarin, Shared Trauma, Single Parent Din Djarin, Slow Burn, Soft Din Djarin, Young Din Djarin, and sassy, but so is Paz, grogu is adorable, its okay Din keeps him in check, talk of slavery, very brief nonconsensual touching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29420823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cupcakeninja045/pseuds/Cupcakeninja045
Summary: After the purge Paz has had to adapt to everything thrown his way. But a bride, that one's new.Au: Where Din get's separated from the tribe during the Great Purge, accidentally becomes a single dad at 19 and ends up accidentally reconnecting with one of the members from his tribe. If only he knew that from the beginning though. Oops.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Paz Vizsla
Comments: 7
Kudos: 97





	You Fill My Head With Pieces (Of Things I Thought I Had Forgotten)

Walking through the dry sands of Tatooine had not ranked high on Paz's list of enjoyable endeavors. The sand would almost always find itself in the grooves of his armor and he would end up tracking it back into his ship and finding it even weeks after he had left the planet. He grumbled internally as he tried his best not to shake off the irritating granules from his legs and instead stood at attention. He'd been tracking a few of the Hutt's deserters, those that thought that after the fall of Jabba they could make a run for it without any repercussions.

Bib Fortuna was no Jabba but he also wasn't merciful. When his own men had failed to capture them themselves they had turned to the Mandalorian who had been frequenting the cantina in search of work. Bounty hunting wasn't Paz's first choice of work nor was it something he was the best at in his covert, but it paid well and brought in enough to sustain them when it was his turn on the surface. 

Capturing the deserters had been easy even for a man of Paz's built who was not made for stealth but instead brute force and heavy infantry. He had learned to reign in his more ostentatious take downs and had settled for the more common blasters, stowing away his blaster cannon. Despite his taste for bounty hunting the deserters were no match for a Mandalorian, even in large numbers. He'd incapacitated them easily enough, knocked out cold and tied together with shackles he'd thrown them in the back of the ship behind a reinforced door without much care. He'd been hired to bring them back alive, but he wasn't being paid to care much for their personal wellbeing beyond that. 

Paz docked his ship close to the palace but far enough away that it wouldn't look tempting to raid, he knew what kind of people he was dealing with and he wasn't about to take any chances. The deserters resisted when he pushed them out of the ship and forced them to walk but they complied easily enough when faced with a blaster to the skull which Paz was thankful for. He was ready to leave this miserable planet with its two suns that practically baked him inside his heavy armor and coupled with the sand and proximity of the Hutts he'd be glad to be off planet as soon as he was paid.

Bib Fortuna didn't cut half the imposing figure that Jabba had nor did he have quite the same amount of guards, but he still commanded attention when he stood and told his guards to take the deserters down below. Paz didn't really care what happened to them, many of them had done some despicable things so any sympathy he might have had had gone out the window. 

He stood at attention as he was regarded by Fortuna who was gesturing at the guards. It raised Paz's hackles though he didn't show it. It wouldn't be the first time a client tried to double cross him, and Paz was ready for the first sign of hostility. Instead he was greeted by the arrival of several of the larger guards who seemed to be dragging something into view. The closer they got the more Paz realized that it wasn't something they were dragging but someone. 

"You've done a fine job, Mandalorian," Fortuna drawled in between sips of spotchka. "So fine a job that I thought that maybe a gesture of goodwill on my part would keep us in mind on your next visit to Tatooine. Having a Mandalorian on the roster is good for business and all," he smiled with sharp pointy teeth that turned his already unappealing face into something more grotesque. 

Paz wasn't sure what to make of it. On one hand having a steady source of income would be good for the tribe but on the other hand becoming one of the Hutt's pawns set his teeth on edge. He didn't have much time to contemplate the proposal before the figure that had been dragged into the room was being pushed to their knees in front of him. 

They were humanoid in figure and shorter than Paz but then again, most people were. Their body was covered head to toe in faux-sheer fabric that clung suggestively in enough areas that it made Paz keep his gaze firmly above the waist. A waist that seemed impossibly small and shapely for what he had deduced was a male hidden beneath the white fabric. There was almost nothing hidden to the imagination except for the face where the white fabric had been layered around their head so that it hung off like a veil of sorts that went down to the shoulders. There were shackles around their exposed wrists and Paz could see lightly tanned skin beneath.

"I see that my gesture is well received," Fortuna smirked. "He has been quite combative since he was captured but not to worry he plays the part of a docile bride quickly enough with the right amount of pressure," he snapped his fingers and one of the larger guards steps forward with his blaster drawn and forces the prisoner's head down into a mock bow.

Their body is shaking, lightly enough that if Paz wasn't looking for it, he would've missed it but Paz was anything but unobservant. He can only imagine the fear that's coursing through their veins with a weapon pressed to their temple and part of him feels a small level of sympathy for him. 

"While this gift is very much appreciated, I don't believe I can accept such a grand gesture. The agreed upon price would be more than enough," Paz bluffs through his teeth having learned that while he has almost no skills as far as diplomacy goes it wouldn't do well to have the Hutt's on his bad side. 

Fortuna shifts in his throne a dry smile on his face with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "If it's a demonstration you would like, Mandalorian, you need only say," choosing to misinterpret Paz's words completely.

No sooner had Fortuna spoken the words did the guard haul his would-be bride to his feet, no not a bride, a slave he corrected in his mind. Bunched cloth was clutched tightly in the guard's hand from the back of the slave's head and Paz had no doubt their hair was caught in it as well to force him up so abruptly. In the upright position Paz could see their bare feet poking out from under all the fabric and the chain that shackled their legs together that he hadn't noticed before. 

With their head pulled back Paz could see the line of their throat where the fabric had been pulled taut. The guards hand moved slowly over the slave's covered face and cupped his jaw possessively before running his hands down his chest, taking care to map out the figure below him as he showcased him to Paz. The slave was stock still as he allowed it to happen, not even resisting when the hand trailed down to caress his navel but Paz could see the tenseness in his posture increase as the hand reached lower barely skirting under the edge of the fabric of his pants. 

"I've seen enough," Paz interrupted. He kept his voice even as he spoke, the distaste in his voice barely hidden by his vocoder. "I am more than grateful to accept this gift," the words tasted like ash in Paz's mouth, but he had to tread lightly. He could probably take on most of everyone in the room but having the Hutt's after him and endangering his covert wasn't something he was willing to risk. Not for a slave. 

"Excellent," he said before turning. "Bluwick, pay the Mandalorian his credits." 

Paz accepted the payment stoically, pocketing the credits within a seam in his flight suit before regarding the slave still in the clutches of the guard. 

Fortuna nodded his head and the slave was pushed harshly into Paz's arms, his legs tangling up in the short chain and making him stumble. He would have fallen had Paz not caught him by his arms. Paz could feel how tense he was in his arms, so he kept his touches to a minimum when he maneuvered him into a standing position at his side.

"I look forward to working with you in the future, Mandalorian." 

Paz knew a dismissal when he heard one and he was grateful for it but there was still a small matter at hand that he had to address. "And the key to his shackles?" he implored. 

Fortuna to his credit didn't falter but the smile that stretched across his face was much too strained to be genuine. "Of course," he said with a flourish of his hand. 

A guard stepped forward with a ring of keys hanging off his belt, sorting through them until he reached a dark and weathered looking thing that looked as though it would break off the second Paz tried to unlock something with it and pressed it into his gloved palm. 

"Thanks," Paz grunted in assent, using the bulk of his body to shield the slave behind him. "We'll be going." 

Nobody stopped them on the way out, but Paz wasn't stupid enough to let his guard down. He led the slave out with a hand on the crook of his arm and while he wasn't forceful like the guards had been, he led with intent to avoid overstaying his welcome. If anything, the slave got more distressed the further away they got, and Paz wondered whether the slave was more fearful of him than the Hutt’s. Better the enemy you know than the one you don't he supposed. 

The slave's sheer clothing fluttered in the dry air of Tatooine in a way that had to be annoying to the wearer as much as it was for Paz who kept getting hit and having his line of sight blocked. They had slowed down their pace and not by choice because the slave was practically dragging his feet to the point that Paz was practically pulling them along.

He turned around to face him, keeping his grip tight on his arm. He realized he might've pulled too hard when they stumbled, ramming right into Paz's chest plate. 

"Why are you slowing down?" he grunts. They're still too close for comfort for Paz to disclose that he has no intentions of keeping him as a slave. He'll wait for them to get off planet then he'll drop them off somewhere along the way before he gets to Navarro. He's not heartless but he'd rather not spend any more time on Tatooine than he has to. 

Paz could feel the glare directed at him even if he couldn't see it, from years of practice of having to deduce expressions from body language alone. The slave makes a point to tilt his head down at the floor before lifting his head to stare directly into Paz's _buy'ce_. It takes Paz only a little too long to understand what he's trying to say and honestly, he feels like a _di'kut_. The scorching sands were tough enough to maneuver with his boots and Paz winces when he's reminded that the slave's feet are bare and starting to blister by the looks of it. 

The slave stands with their arms crossed, as much as they can considering the shackles still holding them together, oozing an aura of disdain and smugness. Paz would've liked to have seen it wiped off his face but alas he had to settle for the muffled indignant squawk he let out as Paz bent down and hoisted him over his shoulder. 

The slave flails from where he's draped over Paz's shoulder and he has to bring his arm up to secure him by the waist to keep him from falling. Paz is almost surprised when the slave bangs on the back of his armor, the metal shackles clanging against the beskar and ringing out softly. It only happens the once before the smaller man stills and slumps almost bonelessly against Paz's form. If Paz didn't know any better he'd suspect the man was trying to make himself heavier on purpose with that tactic, not that it works considering Paz is the biggest guy in the tribe, it's petty but ultimately in vain since the slave barely weighs more than the foundlings that like to climb on Paz when he returns from the surface.

The pace Paz sets has them reach his ship with little fanfare and he adjusts his charge in his hands so he can open the ramp. The U-Wing had been a surprise payment when one of his clients had tried to pull a fast one on him and Paz thought it only fair for him to take the former rebel ship, it had only been collecting dust anyway. Paz sets the slave down on the metal floor and closes the ramp behind him. The sand coating the floor and currently still clinging to both of them makes him sigh internally but it couldn't be helped. His only complaint was that he'd have to keep his _buy’ce_ on until he had dropped the slave off somewhere in between here and Nevarro. Paz wasn't completely heartless; he'd make sure it was far enough so that it'd be difficult for the Hutts to track him down if they ever caught wind that Paz had let their 'gesture of goodwill' go. 

The object of his musings was standing stiffly and hadn't moved an inch from where Paz had deposited him. So far, the only sound he had made was when Paz had picked him up and for all Paz knew the man didn't speak Basic. If not, it was going to be a long and very awkward trip to wherever Paz decided on dropping him off. 

"I don't have any intentions of keeping you if that's what you're worried about," Paz said. "I have somewhere to be, so I'll drop you off wherever it's convenient and you'll never see me again and unless you royally pissed off those Hutt’s I doubt they'll go looking for you."

The man didn't speak or make any indication that Paz's words meant anything to him, and he wasn't sure if it was a language barrier or if the slave thought he was attempting to deceive him. It didn't matter too much to Paz in the end, the slave would realize it after he'd been dropped off. 

"Do you have a name?" he asked, not liking the fact that mentally he was referring to the man as a slave. He wouldn't be for much longer Paz supposed, so it didn't really fit anymore. 

"Do you?" 

Paz almost startled, not actually expecting a reply. The man's voice was soft but gravely in a way that spoke of lack of use more than anything else. The tone was low and not at all what Paz was expecting from the man before him. With a figure like that and with his background Paz would've expected something a little more demure. 

"It seems we're at an impasse," Paz hummed. "But you can call me _Beroya_. Now you," he said peering down at the man. 

The tilt of the man's head seemed to be almost mocking in the way he regarded Paz. "Okay _Beroya_ ," he drew out the word and Paz was sure he could hear amusement in his voice. "You can call me Na'im then."

"Na'im," Paz repeated, sounding it out. "Give me your hands."

Na'im stood stock still at the instruction but another beckoning glance from Paz and he held out his hands towards him. His hands were tanned and the skin on his palms was lightly callused. Perhaps they had made him do manual labor in addition to the more unsavory jobs Hutt slaves were known for or maybe not considering the man wasn’t dressed like any slave he had encountered before aside from the shackles. He had been presented to Paz as a bride after all. Paz kept his hands in full view as he slipped the key out of his pocket and reached into the layered fabric on Na'im's arms. The shackles were tight and placed on the forearms to restrict even more movement, even with them still on Paz could see the irritated skin below. 

The key opened the shackles easily enough despite the ominous creaking as they unclasped. Paz let them fall to the ground with a clang, gently pushing Na'im until he had perched himself on a crate next to the welded table Paz used for rare meals that weren't a ration bar.

Paz crouched down and produced a kit from under one of the shelves. It was lighter than he would have liked since he hadn't restocked it in some time, but he was confident it had the essentials. He opened it up and pulled out a tube of bacta cream as well as some antiseptic and gauze. He traded his gloves for a more appropriate pair because he wasn't a complete _di'kut_ , he knew many people who had survived minor injuries just to have infection set in and make things worse. 

Na'im didn't flinch when Paz rubbed the cream into the red and raw skin that was beneath the shackles. Most of it had scabbed over but there were some parts where the skin had broken, and Paz took care to clean those areas before wrapping his arms in gauze. Paz could feel Na'im's stare through the veil as it bore into the side of his _buy'ce_. He could feel the suspicion and caution directed at him, almost like a skittish animal. 

He instructed Na’im to lift his legs so he could unclasp those as well and a sharp wave of regret punched his chest as he saw the red and bleeding skin now staining the white fabric of his pants. The shackles had cut into the skin and Na'im couldn't suppress the hiss of pain as they fell, pulling at the skin beneath from where they had stuck due to the dried blood. 

Paz knelt down and began the same process, cleaning the area and making sure he got all the sand out before rubbing the cream into the wounds and that one actually got a reaction because Na'im gave a full body flinch and would've managed to kick him if Paz hadn't reacted fast enough. As it was, he still managed to swipe the kit off the table and onto the ground, scattering the items inside. Paz gave a deep sigh before turning to look at Na'im with his foot still clasped in his hand. 

"Oops," Na'im said, tilting his head away from Paz. He didn't sound very apologetic to Paz, but he let it go for the time being.

"What's with the veil thing?" Paz asked just to fill the silence while he finished up. Veils weren’t common in Mandalorian culture, why would they be when they wore their _buy’ce_ to the ceremony after all.

"What's with the helmet?"

And alright touché, but that effectively ended that conversation before it had even taken off. With Na'im's feet properly bandaged Paz sits up with a grunt that's too low for his vocoder to pick up. He scoops up what had been scattered on the floor back into the bag before turning back to Na'im who was busy massaging feeling back into his arms. 

"There's an extra cot through there," Paz gestured vaguely to his right. "I don't really care what you do as long as you stay quiet. I'll take us a couple days out before I drop you off."

Na'im didn't really react to his words but there was an odd stillness to him. It was in the stiffness of his shoulders and the way he held himself as he looked up at him. Paz didn't think much of it, he'd be concerned too if someone were to drop him in the middle of nowhere with nothing to his name, but he didn't owe Na'im anything. He was already being more than generous by choosing to take him off planet with him, he could've just as easily let him go on Tatooine and turned a blind eye. More than likely he would have been recaptured within a day, maybe two if he was lucky. 

"Wait."

Paz almost hadn't heard him with how soft the word was spoken. He turned from where he was reaching for the ladder and gave the other man a look. Na'im had stood up and crossed the distance between them and Paz gave a fleeting thought to the other man's injuries before regarding the other. 

The man was playing with the loose cloth that fell over his hands in a meek and almost shy sort of way. Paz furrowed his brow in confusion because Na'im, while a slave, had yet to display such obvious fright aside from earlier with the guard. Paz had pegged him as a quiet guy that bottled up his fear behind a strong front but now seeing such uncharacteristic behavior Paz was starting to change his perception of the man. 

"I-," Na'im's voice trails off as he stares at the ground. "I'm aware it wasn't your choice to take me in, but I am grateful all the same." Na'im was full on fidgeting at this point and there was only so much awkwardness that Paz could take so he moved forward with his hands up to try and calm the other man down and to keep him from singing Paz any more praises he doesn't deserve when Na'im steps forward and crowds him. 

Paz instinctively reaches for the blaster at his side while his other hand comes up and grips Na'im harshly by the waist to keep him at arm’s length. Na'im lets out a frightened sound at his reaction and bows his head in fear, the veil shudders around him. 

"I wanted to thank you," his voice was impossibly soft for how deep it was. "For taking care of me." A tentative hand reaches out to him and Paz can see that it's shaking. Na'im gives him enough time to see it coming and push him away, but Paz allows it to settle on the arm that had been reaching for his blaster. "I saw the way you looked at me back there," a hand trailing down the fabric between his armor. "I wanted to show how grateful I am." 

Paz's hand reaches up to grip Na'im's own tightly. "You don't have to do that," Paz said, his voice rough. 

"I want to." 

Paz hold goes slack, and it seems to be all the permission Na'im needs to press himself close to Paz. His body fits beside his like he was made for it, pushing suggestively against him while running his hands up Paz's armored chest. 

It's honestly been a while for Paz and his brain is quickly directing blood in all the right places, but he's just glad his vocoder hasn't picked up the change in his breathing. Na'im well, he's warm and convenient and more than that he's very willing if the hitches in his breath were anything to go by.

Na'im's hand is now trailing down and reaching for his pants and Paz relaxes his hold on Na'im's waist. That was his first mistake. 

His next mistake is not preparing himself for the jab to his neck. Something thin and sharp slides into the vulnerable space between his _buy'ce_ and his chest plate and he barely has a chance to react and knock him back with a harsh shove before Na'im is on him again. 

A wave of vertigo hits Paz and he stumbles unbalanced into the wall behind him but manages to stay upright. The wound on his neck didn't seem like it had done much damage but now Paz knows what it had truly been. Knocking over the kit hadn't been an accident.

Paz reaches for his blaster only to find the holster empty and he hears it clatter as Na’im tosses it behind and away from them; oh, he's going to enjoy pummeling Na'im with his bare hands. Na'im is a slippery thing and gives him no time to properly attack while he's this crowded and unbalanced, his smaller fists finding the unprotected openings in his armor with pinpoint accuracy. Paz manages to land a blow to Na'im's side with a wild swing and he relishes in the grunt of pain he lets out when he stumbles but is surprised when the man doesn't go down from the hit. It catches him even more off guard when he uses Paz's arm to throw him even further off balance, using the momentum of Paz's own attack to pull him forward.

In this position he's at eye level with Na'im and the other man wastes no time before slipping under the bulk of his armor and attaching himself to Paz's back with his arms tightly wrapped around Paz's neck, cutting off his oxygen. The bulk of Paz's armor makes it hard for him to reach behind him to land a hit and the arms around his neck are not budging no matter how hard Paz punches or digs his fingers into the flesh so he does the next best thing. He rams himself backwards into the walls of the ship with all the strength left in his body, hearing a pained breath of air leave Na'im's body as he does so again. The other man cries out the third time, sandwiched between Paz's armor and the metal walls of the ship but his arms hold steadfast and Paz can see black dots entering his vision from lack of air. His legs buckle under him as his arms go lax both from the oxygen deprivation and the sedative coursing through his veins, they both go down with Na'im breathing heavily next to his ear.

"It's not personal."

It's the last thing Paz hears before his body slumps of its own accord and his eyes are forced shut. 

**Author's Note:**

> Mandoa:  
> Di'kut: Idiot  
> Buy'ce: Helmet/Bucket  
> Beroya: Bounty Hunter
> 
> This is my first Mandalorian Fic and I'm messing with the timeline quite a bit. Canon Din Djarin is theorized to be between 36 to 39 years old during the events of The Mandalorian which takes place 5 years after Return of the Jedi. I moved the timeline up a bit so this takes place almost immediately after the fall of the empire and I also played around with the date of The Great Purge. There's no set date that I could find but some sources have it as early as 5 years before Return of the Jedi and that didn't really fit with my narrative so we're making it take place like 10 or so years before the fall of the empire because reasons. I've also never seen a Star wars film all the way through(I'm sorry) just wasn't that invested but The Mandalorian caught my interest so any Star Wars info is gonna be things I researched on the fly or barely glossed over.


End file.
